I pat the damp paper towel against my cheeks before tossing it in the trash can.
The clothes Hans bought me are surprisingly breathable, but the late afternoon heat in Texas is no joke.
After unlocking the door, I step out of the little bathroom and back into the private airplane hangar.
I’ve never flown private before, and even though every seat was filled with intense-looking men that I don’t know, it was fun.
We were halfway to Dallas when I realized that Nero was the one flying the plane, and that was a little alarming, but I can’t fault his landing.
Now, all the men are getting ready, and I’m trying to stay out of the way. Apparently we’re waiting for some other plane to land that’s filled with guns and stuff. I sort of zoned out when they were talking about the details, but it sounded like Hans knows the guy delivering them.
Not sure how I should feel about Hans being friends with an arms dealer, but—I look across the hangar at Hans as he checks the clip of his handgun—glass houses and all that.
The hangar is basically one giant room with an overhead garage door big enough to drive a plane through. There are people-sized doors on the far side and on the back of the building, which lead to parking spots and are currently propped open for the cross breeze. Then on this side of the building is the restroom I just used and two other rooms that I think are offices.
The plane we flew here in is sitting in the middle of the hangar, and three black SUVs are parked across the entrance to the hangar in the strip of shade the building provides. And there are more SUVs out back, because there’s no way all these people will fit in three vehicles.
I cross the concrete floor to Hans.
As soon as I’m close enough, he reaches his hands toward me, sliding them up and down my arms.
If I’m within range, Hans is going to touch me. And I love it.
“It’s gonna be another thirty or so minutes,” he tells me.
“Okay.” I run my hand down his chest, loving the way his muscles tense under my touch.
My other hand pulls a crinkly package of candy out of one of my many pants pockets.
Hans’s eyes light up, and he holds one of his palms out.
I tear a corner off the bag and pour Skittles into his hand. And he wastes no time lifting his palm and sliding the candies into his mouth.
“Why do you like these so much? I saw your box of them in your bunker, and then there were like three of these in every backpack.” I shake a piece into my hand and put it in my mouth, sucking the candy shell to get the most flavor.
“First, it was a safe room, not a bunker.” Hans holds his hand out again, and I pour more into it. “Second, they’re good.” He pops the Skittles into his mouth. “I don’t remember my first time having them or anything like that. I’ve just always liked them. And they don’t melt easily.”
I pluck out a different color next and pop it in my mouth. “Have they always been your favorite?”
Hans nods while he chews. “Every Halloween, I’d trade my chocolate candy to Freya for her Skittles. She was a tough negotiator, so I’d usually have to trade two for one, but it was worth it.”
I smile and step into him, leaning against his body. “That’s a nice memory.”
Hans wraps his arms around me, and I love it, but after about five seconds, it’s too hot.
I push against him and step back.
He looks down at me with his brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I fan my face. “I’m just a little warm.”
The hangar isn’t as sweltering as it is outside in the sun, but it’s still hot.
Hans moves his hand to my back and starts to guide me to the closest SUV.
He lifts his chin, getting the attention of the man leaning against the front bumper. And the man steps forward.
Hans points to the vehicle. “Can you start it up and turn the AC on?”
My eyes widen with guilt. “No, Hans, I’ll be okay.”
The other man ignores me and nods. “Can do.”
“Hans—”
“Butterfly.” His voice is so gentle. “I love you.”
I melt.
“Hans.” My tone matches his. “I love you too.”
“Then you’ll get your sweet ass in that back seat and cool down. But leave the door open so I can see you.”
Having a door open while blasting the AC seems like the most wasteful thing ever. But as a drip of sweat breaks free from my hairline, I decide to indulge us both.
